Crystal River current., 1887-08-27
and a few hours later a message was

and few hours later a message was
brought to Lucia Grey. /
But one passenger had left the ears,
and as he stepped across the platform
lie stopped one moment to gaze up at
the frowning heavens. As he looked a
fiery, zigzag line cut the sul!en blue OF
the sky, gathered itself into lurid
ball OF dancing. purplish f1ame-lights
and burst amid a grand discord OF
thunder, wind and rain. When the
clamor OF the elements ceased those
inside the depot rushed out to see
where the bolt had fallen. 8.
They found some of the men who
had been grouped outside thrown to
the ground, few stunned, and one,
the passenger from the southbound
train, struck dead.
When carried to the hotel he was re-
cognIzed as Laurence Holt.
In his pocket was letter with the
address, ITO be given, in case OF my
death, to Miss Lucia Grey, San
Marcos, Tex"
They sent it to her. and with it a
sealed packet bearing the same direc-
ton, which was found with the letter.
Lucia listened to it all, with now
and then low moan, such as the
dumb make when in distress, and
asked Joe to take her to him and let
her be alone with him for little
while.
Alone in the room with the dear
form, SO unfamiliar in its strange,
white silence, she opened the letter and
the packet.
The former told of so much love and
happiness that had been coming on
flying feet to meet her, that at first
she could not take this cold clay as
sole answer.
Laurence Holt had met John Ter
rell q few days before in some Western
city, and, learning from chance re-
recovered from his surprise at q wom-
ans refusing, not him, but his wealthy
what had actually occurred that even
ing long ago, he started horne at once.
He was not much richer in pocket
than then, but his heart was full ofjoy
and bright hopes, and clean-swept OF
all those sickcning doubts and fears
which he now knew were the creations
OF distorted fancy.
Sometimes people die OF n rush OF
happiness to the heart, as well as a
rush of blood to the brain.
If he had been Scotch he would have
distrusted this overf1ush of Joy, like
the consumptive's sudden rise OF
strength that is the prelude to death.
In the yellow, tIme-discolored paper
Lucia found a faded bunch of violets,
the words OF an old song she had
copied, and two ragged bits OF dark
flannel pinned together with the spiky
leaf OF the aguarita.
All! he must, indeed, have distrust-
ed his Joy, or else what subtle preset
ence made him thus photograph his
heart for her.
Those last hours shall be sacred.
If she reproached herself-neyer him
and moaned that she had not been
kinder in the days that were past,
had not listened more to love and less
to it's rival, pride; if she wounded her
self with bitter words for her blind
ness, Knocked her poor henrt for its
dizziness, and blame her poor lips for
their silence-why, all will understand.
And if she wondered, in strange
usefulness, why God made His Great
ures to pass through SO much of pain,
and why He gave them bodies to be
racked and spirits to be bruised-all
will understand this too.
y u
Lucia trey went nome TO take up
the dropped stitches of her sweet.
patient life and interweave with them
the beauty and pathos of other lives
-bright-colored threads from the
hands of little children; blues and
reds that lovers brought, and purple
strands, drawn here and there from
sin-steined fingers; all to mingle low
ingly in the spotless web of her own
sorrow-crowned existence.
Remembering how Laurence had al
ways loved violets, calling them little
lost children from the Garden OF Eden
still laden with the perfume of Gods
breath, she and Joe planted them in
profusion about his grave, tending
them carefully, SO that every Spring
the earth above him should be fra
grant with the lovely purple blooms,
''fit emblems OF hope and of constan,
too"
And two shall walk some narrow way OF
life,
So nearly side by side that should one
Ever SO little space from left or right
They needs must stand acknowledged face
And yet, with wistiul eyes that never meet,
With cropping hands that never clasp,
and lips
Calling in vain to ears that neve hear,
They seak each other all their weary days,
And die unsatisfed-and this is Fate.